


Just When It Gets Good

by oONightmareOo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bigender Pidge | Katie Holt, F/M, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, M/M, Male Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Minor Character Death, Multi, Nyma is a psycho, Rape, shklance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 04:14:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11638689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oONightmareOo/pseuds/oONightmareOo
Summary: Whenever Lance has something good in his life, something always seems to take it away.  But he always ends up thinking, hoping that this time it won't be like that.





	Just When It Gets Good

**Author's Note:**

> Found a thing on Instagram by @loose_bolt that they titled as their 'Diner AU' and I asked permission to write my own take on what could have happened. It got really long so I'm gonna divide it into two parts. This is the shippy version. If you want someone else's version of the Diner AU, go read Welcome to Oblivion by LinaBenliven on this website. Go read it anyways if you haven't already.

                Nothing about this day was _right_. The sun was shining beautifully overhead, not raining as he felt it should. The birds were singing their songs without a care in the world, when all he wanted was for them to be quiet. Butterflies fluttered their wings nearby peacefully, some even landing on the flowers next to the rectangular hole in the ground, when they should be hiding away. There was nothing that was _supposed_ to be beautiful today. Not when surrounded by so many strangers wearing black, people that claimed to know the man that would be let down carefully into the hole, people who hadn’t even given the man a single _second_ of their day, lying their perfectly manicured nails and neatly ironed suits off when they claimed that ‘Mr. McClain was a good man’, when they claimed ‘Mr. McClain was a good friend’, when they didn’t know him, didn’t know _them_. Lance wanted to scream. He wanted to cry, yell, tear something apart, because it just _wasn’t fair_. But he was exhausted. Had been exhausted ever since that morning, when they had held the service in memory of his father.

                When those strangers, all those people wearing black gowns, black dresses, black veils, black suits, black slacks, all those strangers had introduced themselves to Lance and the rest of his family as if they had a _right_ to be there, as if he wanted to see the people who caused his father’s exhaustion every night when he came home after extra hours, as if he cared to know anything about these strangers, least of all their _names_. Their fake concern, their fake sympathy, their fake _everything_. They didn’t know Lance yet they still gave their words of sympathy to him, the women would give him hugs and the men shook his hand, and it wasn’t _right_. When he sat in the furthest pew in the furthest corner as people gave their written and practiced speeches because they didn’t _know_ his father and so could actually do such frivolous things, when his tears fell silently since it was always silent before a storm. When they all go downstairs so they could _enjoy_ the food the church provided for their lunch, when he could barely stomach the small breakfast that his mamá watched him eat, when it’s quiet enough that he imagines his father’s arms around him, the way he always did that made Lance feel safe and warm.

                He remembers those times where his father, even though he was tired and worn out from work, would take him out to get ice cream after a particularly difficult day, whenever Lance was down about something his father always had his own way of cheering Lance up. He would create extravagant stories, arms and hands waving to draw Lance into the story, all featuring Lance’s favorite superheroes Voltron, favorite because his father created them, all featuring Lance as the brave Blue Paladin whom had impeccable aim and handsome looks. Sometimes Lance’s siblings joined in as the other Paladins while his father took an advisor’s spot, never part of the action but always there to help them figure out how to save mamá from the evil clutches of household chores. He would sit Lance down and talk about the pre-teen’s day, help him figure out what was confusing him, helped him figure out that Lance wasn’t _weird_ when he got butterflies in his stomach when standing next to the bookworm of his class even if the bookworm was a boy. Papá always had an answer to everything, whether it was for a homework question (after Lance tried to solve it three times, because third time is the charm) or a question about life (which he always claimed the answer was 42 before he got serious), but he wasn’t here to give an answer to this question. What was Lance going to do without him?

                He remembers that his father’s body is still, he’s cold, never warm again, never going to make Lance feel safe again. Papá will never play the silly advisor to their quintet superhero, never going to help them save mamá, never make strange airplane noises as he flies little Josie, their Green Paladin around as she giggles and screams gleefully. Lance could hear ugly sobbing echoing through the empty room, pained yelling, the world was shaking. Papá will never hear the stories about what the quarterback did this week to embarrass himself, never gossip with Lance about his cute classmates, never encourage Lance to try to take the shy boy that hid in the seat furthest from the door on a date. Lance’s throat was beginning to hurt, he couldn’t tell why but he made a wild guess that the loud noises were from him, the tears blurring his vision, his shoulders were beginning to hurt as well, the pew in front of him wouldn’t stop moving, or was it him? Even when papá was sick, even when he couldn’t lift little Josie, even when he couldn’t wave his hands around and make all the different voices for his stories, even when he couldn’t get out of his bed in the hospital, papá _always_ had time for Lance. He would hug Lance, run his fingers through Lance’s hair, whispering words of encouragement, words of love, and say the same thing before Lance had to go to bed himself. “Mi hijo es increíble.”

                Lance would never forget these last words that his father said to him. “Mi hijo es increíble.” Never forget the meaning behind those words, never _ever_ let himself forget what his father thought of him. “My son is amazing.”

                Manuel was the first one to come up, the second oldest of the McClain children, and he sat with him. Even though he was there, Lance still felt alone as he clutched at the pew in front of him, his forehead pressed against his white knuckles. Emmanuel had an amazing relationship with mamá but only ever participated in papá’s games when he dragged him into it as the Black Paladin. Manuel did not feel the pain that Lance did. Josie showed up a short moment afterwards with the second youngest, Viv. Josephine was too young to understand that papá was gone and Vivienne, their Yellow Paladin, was barely on the cusp to understand that. The last one to show up, tears already in her eyes and dripping from her chin, was Mari, the oldest girl. Marinette knew, she understood that the stories of her as the Red Paladin would never come again, and her arms were the first to wrap around Lance. He couldn’t tell who was next or who was last as he buried his face and tears and snot into the short black sleeve that just barely covered her shoulder, but he could feel tears on his skin that weren’t his and he almost didn’t feel so alone anymore. Almost.

                The burial was almost worse than the funeral, with the bright and shining sun, the colorful butterflies, the singing birds, the strangers pressing in around him as he watches the coffin be set into the dirt. His tears are all gone, no more left to shed by this point, but he feels even this is wrong. It hits him yet again that his father is gone for good but this time he just feels numb. Papá won’t be able to finish the last story he told, won’t tell Lance the stories he was promised when he got older, won’t be able to teach him how to properly treat his wife or husband, won’t teach Lance how to fix a car. It didn’t feel right that he wasn’t crying anymore, but he could barely feel himself enough to be able to put in the effort. He was exhausted from the crying that he did at the church but he can’t feel it – it’s more knowing it than actually feeling it.

                “Please no. Please no. _Please no_.” Muttering under his breath as the coffin finally hits the bottom of the grave, an arm wraps around his shoulders. Distantly, he realizes that it’s his best friend, Hunk. He’s the only one that hears Lance’s words. So he leans into Hunk, finally feeling the warmth he’s needed all day, even if it wasn’t from the right person, the comforting warmth that lulls him into a false feeling of security. _It can’t be over_. Lance tries to reason with himself as he buries his face into Hunk’s neck, tries to believe that it isn’t his father, isn’t papá that died, that’s been lowered into the ground, that’s getting dirt thrown over the top of his coffin by his older brothers. Where Manuel had come to comfort Lance awkwardly, Brycen hadn’t even shown up until they arrived at the gravesite. Lance decides, if he doesn’t see it, then it doesn’t happen. _I’ll wake up from this nightmare and papá will pour me a cup of orange juice before giving mamá a kiss and leaving for work. Then I’ll go to school. When I get back, I’ll do my homework and wait for papá to come home. When he gets home then we will go over my homework and talk about our days. It’ll be a normal day._

                Hunk doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to comfort with words or help Lance deal with his thoughts, simply hugging him back, running his fingers through his hair like papá always did, and it helps. It helps so much. More than any words, any reassurances, any sympathies that the strangers gave, Hunk simply held him and it hurt less. It didn’t make the hurt go away, god no, but it helped Lance deal with it. For the next month, it helps _so much_ to know he could at any point latch on to his best friend and get a silent hug as tears slipped out. So, Lance returns the favor.

                When he normally filled the silence with empty words, anything and everything under the sun and moon that he could talk about, even when no one listened to him, even when no one was around, he filled the silence left behind by his father’s absence to make it less real, less _possible_ , he kept quiet when Hunk needed a hug. He had never anticipated that Hunk would need such a hug from him, one where he didn’t need to use words to comfort or whispers of reassurance. But he did and Lance willingly gave them. He’s nowhere near as good as Hunk is at hugs, his lanky arms not giving the same comfort as Hunk’s arms do, but it seems to help. And Lance really wanted to help. The situation scared Lance, he couldn’t imagine how scary it was for Hunk.

                Mrs. Garret makes him promise to leave someone if they hurt him. She doesn’t specify how they might hurt him or who they might be, just makes him promise. Pinky swear even. So he does. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the how or the who. Just by looking at her in her wheelchair, it makes sense. Knowing that Hunk’s father was taken into custody and that _he_ was the reason Hunk came to Lance for silent comfort just added to his understanding of her demand. He’s around them more often, comfortably filling the silence as Hunk takes Mrs. Garrett on walks and sometimes even taking over for the big guy when he tires out. He understands their situation. It doesn’t change how much he feels that it’s truly unfair.

                Mrs. Garrett didn’t deserve what happened to her. She didn’t deserve to have two legs that she can’t move herself. She was surprisingly okay with it, though. It was strange to see from an outside perspective. When she had to quit therapy because she couldn’t afford it anymore, she gave an easy roll of her shoulders and said it wasn’t all that bad to be confined to a wheelchair. Lance couldn’t tell if she was just putting on a brave face. He knew that Hunk mattered to her more than her legs, that Hunk was probably the reason she so easily took the news that she couldn’t afford therapy, but he couldn’t say for certain whether she was truly okay with it. He knows he wouldn’t be.

               So, he stays over at Hunk’s place a lot, helping around over there. As the time passed, it became easier to smile, easier to breath, easier to sleep. Then, his older brothers moved out after graduation. They leave to attend college or to go look for work elsewhere. And he has to help out around his own home, take care of his siblings and cousins and clean the house. His mother is at work and Lance is the oldest sibling at home. So he cooks. He cleans. He helps Mari with her homework and Viv with her puzzles and Josie with her colors. He does everything he can to make certain that mamá didn’t need to worry about two jobs _and_ a messy house. And it works this way. It’s smooth this way. There is no issue, in his opinion.

                He gets a job at the library, a place where all three of his sisters can come to if he needs to do a shift when mamá is at work, and it still works. It’s good. He takes another job as a waiter at a chain restaurant and it works. He hates it, hates the rude customers, hates the overbearing managers, hates the coworkers that seem to make it a part of their job to get him fired, hates how much he hates it, but it works. It's okay. He keeps both jobs. He can do both jobs and watch his siblings and go to school. He can do it.

                Mamá has three days off every month. She watches his sisters on these days. They’re his _favorite_ days. They keep him sane. Don’t get him wrong though, he loves his little sisters with all his heart and he enjoys his jobs to the best of his ability, even if he absolutely hates the one, and school isn’t all that bad. But these three days where he can leave the house and just _breath_? He spends them on the beach, no matter what season it may be. He walks along the beach, collects the swirled shells, the concave shells, the shells shaped like hearts, and even the broken shells. Sand Dollars, tiger striped shells, shells that are newly abandoned and shells that are super old, shells covered in moss, covered in seaweed. When it’s warm, he swims as well. He surfs. He dives. He plays around like he’s a little kid again. But mostly? He surfs.

                There’s not quite anything like the feeling of catching a good wave. Maybe those times where he catches a  _sick_ A-frame. Generally, though, he settles for nice barrels.

                Hunk usually takes him in his yellow pickup. It was a super old truck, one that had seen many events in its lifetime, and it used to be grey – well, until Lance painted it yellow as a surprise for Hunk’s birthday. Today was one such day. Tossing his surfboard into the bed of the truck, he hopped into the passenger side. “Hunk, you’re a lifesaver!” Lance would never be able to survive without those three days of the month.

                Hunk tossed him a tilted smile. “If I didn’t drive you, you’d just complain to me about it at school.” He was teasing, as made obvious from the terrible impersonation of the Latino. “’Oh Hunk, I had to _walk_ to the beach! Do you realize how far from my home the beach is?! A twenty-minute walk! I could have _died!_ ’ But now I don’t have to listen to your drama queen complaints. Plus, I get a little sun out of it and free gas so I don’t really see a downside.”

                Placing a hand to his bare chest, Lance started in a pained voice with a grin and a few escaped giggles. “Dareth thou to make such accusations on mine person? Shame on thy name for you have disgraced thyself. Friend of my house? I should think not!”

                Sighing with a grin of his own, Hunk kept his eyes on the road. “And here we go again. Why don’t you just take theatre? Obviously, you could teach them a thing or two.” They dissolve into laughter over the long running joke.

                When he gets home from his day of fun in the sun with Hunk, who kept to the safety of the beach, his mom asks him to have a talk with her. His relaxed grin quickly fades when she states that she’s going to take more hours. When she asks him to take care of his little sisters on one of the days she usually had off, he agreed easily. Having two out of the three days wasn’t going to kill him. Besides, it was just one more day where he had to be an adult. Even if he was near tears over the loss of one of the days where he could act his age, be a normal teenager with normal teenager problems. It was just one more day. It was okay. Just one.

                Just one more day turned into two which quickly turned to three. He was no longer going to the beach. And it killed him inside. He loves his sisters to bits, couldn’t imagine life without them around, but he was so tired of being a grownup. He just wanted to have someone hold him and run their fingers through his hair like papá used to. But even Hunk was busy at his own house, helping his mother in any way he can, and it feels like forever has passed since he last saw the other. So he had to suck it up, grin and bear it, because there was no other way to go about it.

                Mamá’s extra hours drag on for a year. A year of being a grownup when he was so young, a year of working at a crappy restaurant and falling asleep at the librarian desk because he was kept up late waiting for mamá to come home when she stops being punctual at 7, a year of mamá coming home later and later until Lance just stops waiting up for her completely so he doesn’t fail his finals. One full year of these so-called ‘extra hours’ until mamá brings home a man.

                He’s tall and he looks strong, has a charming smile and a caring attitude, but Lance hates him as soon as he understands what he’s looking at. This _man_ was the reason mamá had stopped coming home on time, the reason why Lance was now a 24/7 babysitter, the reason why Lance could no longer go out and be a kid again. Mamá introduces him to Lance and his sisters with a nervous smile, but she’s not nervous about her four kids. No, she’s nervous about how _he_ will react to her now seventeen-year-old son and her three daughters. “Lance, I’ve heard so many good things about you.” Alfor Altea, mamá said his name was, had a British accent. He already decided he hated the man’s voice.

                He looked down at the outstretched hand, waiting for a handshake, before meeting the man’s eyes with the coldest expression he could summon up. “Yeah? I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you.” Lance’s voice was as cold as a frigid blizzard wind and Alfor’s hand withdrew a bit in surprise. Looking at his clothes, the man probably was accustomed to people greeting him with a smile. He probably had it made. “Isn’t Altea a company?” Not waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel to go to the kitchen. Making a disinterested humming sound, he continued in the same voice. “Sounds interesting.” Setting the dinner table for himself and his sisters, he made sure the perfect amount of what each of them liked was set up on their plates. Viv liked corn but Josie couldn’t stand it so her corn was mixed with green beans, which she loved but Mari could only eat a little before she ignored them for the rest of the meal. Mamá probably didn’t even know these things anymore.

                Mamá fixed a plate for herself and _Alfor_. They sat at the table like Alfor had a right to sit where papá used to sit. The man makes a handful of attempts at starting a conversation with Lance whenever his conversations with Mari or Viv ended, each time shot down with a scathing comment or a look of complete disinterest. _Usually_ , mamá tried to smooth it over in the silence that occurs afterwards. By her bewildered expression, she really had no idea how to deal with the situation.

                “So I’ve heard you surf, Lance?”

                “Not anymore. I’ve been taking care of my sisters instead for the past year.” That was a subtle jab towards his mother, even Alfor notices, but it causes the room to go back to an awkward silence.

                It continues like this until finally, _finally_ , his mother gets fed up with it. “Lance, a word?” She phrases it like a question when really everyone at the table hears it as the demand it is. She marches right out to the front porch with Lance lazily following. “What has gotten into you?!” She rounded on him the moment the screen door shuts. He looked back at her with fire in his eyes.

                “Who is he? Why is he here? Why didn’t you tell us about him when you’ve clearly told him about us?!” He didn’t mean to yell at the end but, at the moment, he couldn’t really find it in him to care.

                She calms down slightly, no longer irritated but now she was defensive. “He’s a…” She started strong before faltering. She tries again. “He’s a good friend. In fact, he’s more than a friend. We’ve been seeing each other. On my days off.” He knew it. She wasn’t taking ‘extra hours’, extra hours were nowhere near her mind, she was off jacking around with some bigshot company guy who had it fucking made while her son struggled through two different jobs for _her_ , attending classes, doing homework, caring for _her_ kids, and cleaning _her_ house. His jaw clenched as he struggled to control his emotions.

                “Mamá,” _dammit_ , he thinks as his voice cracked. “Why…?”

                She sighs, looking more tired than she ought to be allowed to. “Lance. Mi hijo- “ _es increíble_. She wasn’t only betraying _him_ , she was betraying papá!

                “You can’t replace dad!” He lashes out, unable to stop himself from doing so. “And you can’t leave me here to raise _your_ children!”

                Mamá glares at him, suddenly angry again, voice sharp. “Lance. You have been unspeakably rude to Alfor so you will go back in there, apologize, and behave.” He scrunches his face up to avoid tears forming in his eyes. “ _Por favor_ , mi hijo.” Her voice softened for this last bit so he gives a sharp nod. “ _Gracias_.” He takes a few minutes to compose himself after she walked back inside, back to _him_ , before following. He mumbled a gruff apology that he didn’t mean, completely ignored the rest of the conversations to the best of his ability as he finished his meal, then he gathered the dishes that he washed, dried, and put away. He didn’t say goodbye when it was time for Alfor to leave nor did he say goodnight to mamá when she went to bed, he simply tucked Josie into her bed read both her and Viv a bedtime story before making certain that Mari was in bed and not on her phone. He hides himself in his room until mamá goes to work.

                After a week of awkward dinners, Alfor lets out a detail. Allura. His daughter. She was a year older than him, a Senior where he was a Junior, and she went to his school. It wasn’t hard to find her. She was popular, cheer captain and the student body president, and she was on a different league with her looks. It was easy to find her in the hallways. So he schemed. If she hates Lance then Alfor won’t like Lance either, and she can convince the bastard to leave Lance’s mamá. Alfor let out enough details to figure out that Allura was his whole world, the only thing that mattered to him. If she was unhappy then he was unhappy and he fixed whatever made her unhappy.

                Then he found out that she hated playboys.

                It was an accidental eavesdrop, honestly. He was passing her in the hallway, about a week after Alfor had proposed to his mother, as she was talking to the VP of the cheer club on his way to Hunk, completely ignoring her presence since he hadn’t figured out a way to make her hate him yet, and she said it plain as day. “Ugh, I hate playboys. They think that girls are just going to climb all over themselves just to get with them when, really, it’s the other way around.” His only issue? He can’t flirt. So he looks online, finding cheap pickup lines and cheesy flirtatious one-liners, during his shift at the library and pays extra attention to how guys flirted with girls at the restaurant.

                 The very next day, for the first time in the two months he’s known about her and for the first time in the month and a half since he first saw her, he speaks to her. “Hey, baby, are you an alien? ‘Cause your body is out of this world.” She levels him with an unimpressed stare as her posse of girlfriends giggle at him, before pushing him out of her space with a hand to his chest. Her nails kind of hurt.

                “No, it’s called training and exercise. Both of which,” she drags her eyes up and down his body unpleasantly. “Are things that you direly need.” Holding back a snort at that, he gave an easy grin as he put his hands in his jacket pockets. He wore loose clothing for a reason and that reason was for comfort, he didn’t need to show off his body to feel confident in himself. Sure, it had been over a year since he last went surfing but he hadn’t lost the body he got while doing so. The amount he moves around made sure of it.

                “So, sweetheart, do you have a name or can I call you mine?” He had a whole arsenal of the cringiest pickup lines that he could possibly find, especially ones that he could only imagine an asshole using, so he expected the narrow-eyed glare that met his unfeeling gaze. He also, sort of, expected her to just walk away, especially since the warning bell for the next class went off.

               The next day, during the same passing period, he did the same thing. This time he was immediately greeted with glares from all the women in the group as he walked up. So, he immediately said the first line that came to mind as he grinned at her. “Your hand looks heavy. Why don’t you let me hold it for you?”

                And so it continued, every day until she was passive aggressive in her responses, until he began really joking around with her, until the wedding day when he officially met her as his step-sister. His plans didn’t work. “So this is why you flirted with me so terribly.” She leaned against the wall he had taken upon himself to hold up. He looked up at her from his cup of punch. “Yep.” Over-pronouncing the ‘p’, he looked over at his mamá pushing cake into Alfor’s face with a mischievous grin. “Didn’t want Alfor to marry my mamá, figured if I pissed off someone he loves as much as he adores you then maybe you could convince him to not marry her. Jokes on me, you didn’t even make the connection between Sophia McClain and Lance McClain, did you?” She shook her head in a negative. There was an awkward moment as Lance observed the married couple.

                “Do you still wish that the wedding did not happen?” Her tone was merely curious and he could feel her gaze on his face. At the same moment, Alfor finally got mamá’s hand out of his face and nuzzled hers to get the cake stuck on him onto her as well. Her yelp of surprise could be heard all the way from the other end of the hall as well as her happy laughter, and Lance couldn’t help the small smile when Alfor pulled back to smile at his now-wife.

                “Nah. Maybe I can go surfing now that she’s not hiding her relationship from us. Besides, what kind of monster would I be if I separated such a happy couple?” And they were. So very happy. Almost immediately after the wedding, mamá decided she’d rather move in with Alfor before going on her honeymoon. So they did. Suddenly, Lance had a room bigger than he knew what to do with. His stuff, haphazardly thrown around the room, couldn’t make the room dirty enough to warrant a true cleaning. His former room was probably as big as his new bed. Dropping his bag next to the giant bed, he felt almost… lost as he sat down.

                As it turns out, Alfor is _not_ just a business man that had it made. No, he was the president of the Altea company, the owner of a multi-million corporation that owned so many businesses and companies Lance would be surprised if someone told him that his new step-father didn’t own the restaurant he worked at.

                So he had a room. A large room. A room that deserved its own kitchen and entertainment area. He was certain that it wasn’t even the biggest room either. He had walked past Allura’s room on his way to the one that Alfor had given him directions to and hers was bigger, he was sure. If hers was bigger and wasn’t the master bedroom, he was almost terrified of how big the master was. The next day he put in his two-week notice to the restaurant, keeping his job at the library for pocket change.

                It took a week of awkward toeing around Alfor and Allura before someone broke the shaky balance. To Lance’s surprise, it was Allura who did. She had walked in on the daily routine between Lance and his sisters, apparently looking for Mari to find out where a book had gone, and she saw Lance in all his vulnerable glory. No one knew that he braided his sisters’ hair except for them. Everyone assumed it was mamá who did their hair while mamá had assumed it was either the girls or Alfor had gotten someone to do it for them on the wedding day.

                It had all started when Marinette had gotten jealous of a classmate’s hair. Her classmate had brought in a new style, braids hanging in the rest of her loose hair seamlessly, while claiming that her mother had done it for her since her hair was too short for a proper braid. Mari, of course, came home and was prepared to ask mamá if she would braid Mari’s hair for her. Mamá never made it home until way after bedtime. This continued for a week until Lance tentatively offered his own help. It took a few tries before he was able to get something that even passed as a braid. A week before he was able to do anything other than a simple braid. As time went, his braid repertoire had increased since he had three willing subjects to practice with. It was the only way he could get the three of them to sit still and calm down so he made sure to do it before bed for them. Some days he did not but most days he did.

                They were all in Marinette’s room, his legs crossed on the bed as he stuck his tongue out in concentration, making sure each strand was tight but not too tight. He would rebraid their hair in the morning before they went to school with something practiced but this was a new style he had seen and wanted to try. Marinette was always the first to be practiced on, then Josie and then Viv. Vivienne wanted to see it done on the other two before it was done to her. Marinette just liked to use the ‘I’m older so I go first’ card – Josie didn’t mind. Then Allura walked in. “Hey Marinette, have you seen my copy of The Order of the Phoenix? I wanted to check something out, Lance you can braid?”

                “Yeah, it’s over on the desk.” Mari pointed in the general direction, keeping her head as still as possible. Lance had once made good on his threat to stop braiding their hair if they didn’t stay still for it and they hadn’t tried testing it again since the month of plain hairstyles they had been subjected to after looking stylish for so long.

                “Lancey is _really_ good at braiding! Like, _really_ good!” Josie, bless her sweet eight-year-old self, ran over to Allura to drag her to the bed. “C’mon! You should get him to braid your hair too! You’ll do it, right Lancey?” Hesitating as he glanced over the rim of his glasses, he focused back on his hands.

                 “Y-yeah. If you want.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, painfully aware of how he stuttered. Her hair was so much longer than his three sisters’, she usually just put it up in a messy bun or ponytail. There was also that strange tight bun that she favored that more or less looked sort of like she twisted her hair tightly around itself. She never wore that when she was going to have cheer practice or there was a game later in the day. More often than not, she would have it up in a ponytail. He had seen her once taking pigtails out, joking with her friends about the hairstyle. But that was all. That was it. He hadn’t thought that she might want to try any different hairstyles.

                “I would love to have my hair braided.” It sounded like she was smiling. He didn’t want to find out if she was making fun of him or happy about getting her hair braided. Josie insisted that Allura take her spot as second in line since it was her first time, and Viv didn’t mind going fourth. By the time he finished with Viv’s hair, he felt like he had the new style in the bag. After tucking Marinette in, making teasing cooing sounds at the thirteen-year-old as she playfully complained at him about not being a child anymore, he walked to each room to tuck in the ten- and eight-year-old girls who didn’t make any fuss like Mari did. Simply kissed him on the cheek goodnight and laid down. It was when he went to his own room that something changed.

                Allura was standing next to his door with a basket held in front of her, her braid still intact but mussed a little like she had moved and ran her fingers over it after he had thrown it over her shoulder. “Do you use products on your skin?”

                He blinked at her, frozen midstep from when he realized that she was there, before slowly shaking his head no. “We didn’t have funds to buy such things and it didn’t seem very important to get any products when we did.” Her eyes widened in an almost comic fashion with what seemed like horror before she pulled him into his bedroom, setting him on the chair next to his own bare desk. Then she began to unload the basket onto the desk and Lance was introduced to the many products that one could use on their skin, from exfoliating to moisturizing to even smelly products that Allura insisted was extremely important in the process. Soon enough, she had coaxed him into wearing a mud mask, even if the name sounded terrible. So this began a new routine for Lance. Every night, he braided all four of his sisters’ hair and, in return, Allura would come to his room afterwards with a new product or two or even just the original products to care for their skin with each other while they bonded and talked about anything and everything they could think of. Lance was almost beginning to think that he was closer to Allura than he was to Hunk due to these sessions. They… made him happy. For the first time in such a horribly long time, he felt a happiness that was soft. It wasn’t quite a feeling of content, because he was content with life before mamá started seeing Alfor (or so he assumed was the time she started), it was something more than that because every time he saw Allura standing next to his door, he couldn’t stop the smile that stretched his cheeks. There were even rumors around school that she had given in to his flirtatious advances and they were dating, which was also why her hair was suddenly taking all sorts of new braids and hairstyles. She was trying to impress him.

                Then! One day she has a pencil case looking bag along with her usual basket. She looks nervous this time, which causes his smile to droop in concern. She has never looked nervous about him. Irritated and angry, yes. Cautious, definitely. Happy? Lately, that’s been the dominating expression whenever she’s waiting in front of his door. But never nervous. “Hey, what’s up?”

                She doesn’t answer until he’s set up the two chairs they usually use and sat in his own, setting out the bottles and containers in the basket as usual, then she sits in her chair with the pencil case in her lap. “I, um.” She looked as if she was losing whatever nerve that led her to bring the case with her. He gave her a reassuring grin, causing her to relax enough to pass the pencil case over to him. Eagerly, he opened it up to satisfy his curiosity. He had no clue what the things inside the case were. There were quite a few tubes, a couple compacts – he knew what they were called but the purpose of the powder inside? Not a clue. There were small sponges as well as a couple weirdly shaped things he had seen several women use to rub against their faces but never really understanding the purpose of them. The only things inside he recognized and knew the purpose of were the lipstick and lipgloss that were inside. And there were several different colors and flavors? He only knew that lipstick came in black or red and he thought lipgloss was clear or sparkly. They have flavors? That’s a thing? “I thought I could maybe put makeup on you?” She didn’t sound certain. So that’s what everything was. Well, except for the spongy things.

                “What this?” Holding up an egg looking thing in his hand, she looked relieved. Lance didn’t know what she expected from him, maybe him yelling at her to get out or making fun of the idea of him wearing makeup? Either way, he was more curious about what all the things in the bag are for and why someone would need so much to just go outside and be seen by other people. Knowing Lance would end up picking everything out one by one, as he did with new face or hair products, she took the case back and organized everything into groups. Then she introduced him to things like primers, concealer, foundation, blush, contour, eye shadow, eye liner, mascara. She explained that some people liked to wear different shades and colors of lipstick or rouge, which was a different type of lipstick she stated when she dumbed it down for him, and some people liked different looking textures from lipstick with matte, which was also really good at staying on through the day. Better than lipstick, apparently. She explained the purpose of each of the sponges, how the flat white ones were for the foundation and concealer, brushes were for blush, and contour was done with one of the weirdly shaped things which were also sponges. Some girls used the strangely shaped sponges for their eyeshadow as well, which was the only reason why Allura had them. She had friends who would misplace or forget their sponges so she would offer the ones she kept in the bag even though she didn’t use them herself.

                “I don’t usually use all of the categories, only going all out for special occasions,” she explained to him, toying with her bottle of concealer. “Usually, I only do the minimum for others to notice that I have makeup on. Honestly, with how good my skincare regimen is, I could probably just put on eye liner and be done with it, maybe some mascara. I don’t use eye shadow unless it’s for a game or a competition.” She quiets for a moment before meeting his eyes. “I wear makeup because it makes me feel more confident, so I figured I’d share it with you. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, I just think you’d look really nice with eye liner and mascara.” He tilted his head. He would?

                “You think?” He looked at the vast array of colors she had in her arsenal before picking up a stick of blue eye liner, a few shades darker than his eye color. Blue had always been his favorite color. “Would you put it on me?” He handed over the stick, not knowing how to use it whatsoever. The grin he received was near blinding in its joy.

                When he saw the end result, he instantly fell in love. He honestly loved the way he looked with eye liner, even more so when mascara was added. Was it weird? That he loved the way makeup looked on him? None of the boys in his grade wore makeup, even the goths that were supposedly supposed to wear dark makeup or something, so he knew it wasn’t something that happened often but it made him feel better. Not particularly about anything, he just felt better. When Allura started fidgeting while waiting for his reaction, he immediately turned to her and near demanded she teach him how to do his makeup. And she did. She’s a wonderful teacher. By the end of the week, he could confidently put on his own makeup. He also knew now that certain colors didn’t look that great on him while others looked too attention catching.

                Once he had gotten the hang of it, he started putting makeup on in the mornings. Not as much as he practiced with Allura but just enough to feel confident in himself – he giggled when he realized he was doing what Allura would do every morning. Foundation, eye liner, and sometimes some mascara. Concealer if a spot popped up, which it rarely did. Suddenly, he started getting compliments for his looks. And it made the makeup so much nicer. There was rarely a day where it was difficult to smile now, he felt as if nothing could go wrong.

                “You’re a good brother,” Allura states when he finishes a complex crown of braids on her head. She looks over her shoulder with a soft smile. He grins back.

                “You’re a pretty good sister yourself.” Honestly, he feels as though braiding her hair isn’t enough to repay how happy he feels now. So, he drags her with him on a day off, where neither of them have a previous engagement, and takes her to the beach with him and Hunk. Hunk sets up his usual spot on the beach, the spot that hasn’t been touched in nearly two years due to how busy the both of them had been, and watches with a smile as Lance pulls Allura into the water. He had learnt in one of their many late-night conversations that she didn’t know how to swim – so he teaches her. Every chance he gets, he takes her to that same little beach and teaches her the fundamentals and the fun things one could do while swimming. Including surfing. When he buys her a pink and white surfboard for her birthday, stating it’s also a graduation gift, she gets emotional. Nearly cries when he explains every little detail about how the board was different from his and why. Then she demands that she be able to try it out on that day. He had to tell her no, laughing as he stated that she had to open the rest of her presents and celebrate her 18th birthday with the rest of the family before he hogged her attention. She enjoyed the surfboard most of all.

                After graduation, she spends all the time she can with the McClain siblings. Lance had probably mistakenly rubbed a little too much of his personality into hers. “Woeth be mine self! An eternity shall pass before I see mine siblings again! I must spend as much time as I can, imprinting thy beings upon my soul and mind so ‘twill feel like less.” His grin matched hers when he replied.

                “Dearest sister, mine, the months will pass as you thrive, after all thou wilt only be gone for merely five.” He laughed as she hit him with a pillow.

                “Did you just rhyme at me? You did, didn’t you!” She hit him again for good measure. “I’ve decided I will only miss my sisters,” she sniffed arrogantly as she turned her head towards the amused kids. “After all, the horrid creature that be my brother has decided to cross himself off the list.”

                “You know you’ll miss me no matter what.” He stuck his tongue out at her, smiling wide as he could when she returned the gesture then cursed when she remembered her lipgloss.

                She matched the surfboard, which was in her favorite color, with a bracelet in his on his eighteenth birthday. Something to remember her by, she says. It’s several shades of blue and green braided together to make a thick band and it becomes his favorite thing almost instantly, even if he teases her about it.

                When she leaves, it’s the most tearful goodbye Lance has experienced since he had to say goodbye to his father.

                His school has a long weekend in the middle of the first semester, from Friday to Monday they have the days off. Halfway through that Friday, he realizes something. He could easily catch a train and get to Allura’s dorm before nightfall. Surprise her and do their routine there again. She had just begun to teach him how to give himself manicures when she moved from home to the dorm. She had given the basics then told him she would finish teaching him during winter break. There was literally nothing stopping him from going. Alfor had hired help that were there to both clean the house and babysit the girls. There was no homework to do that he hadn’t already finished. Literally nothing was stopping him. So he got on the first train to the university.

                 It was nighttime when he arrived, he had miscalculated the time. But that was alright, Allura usually stayed up late to study after the routine even on days off. The campus was large, much larger than he expected. When he finally found the direction he needed to go to get to the dorms that Allura was staying, he had to walk past a party. One of those parties your parents discouraged you from going to since it had alcohol and probable illegal substances. He tried to make himself as unnoticeable as possible so he could get past without any stalling. He didn’t want to bother anyone or ruin anyone’s good night by accident. Then a girl stumbled into him, causing him to fall. “Well, hey there handsome.” She said, her breath stank of alcohol as she straddled his waist. Her face was way too close. He squirmed uncomfortably at the situation. She was too close, too forward, too touchy, too much.

                He wasn’t interested, one bit. “Um. I’m trying to find my sister.” His voice wavered the same way as a shy child’s would. He sounded so much like a child. But he couldn’t find it in him to care, he was too uncomfortable with the situation. “I’m here to visit her, which way are the dorms?” Pushing himself up in an attempt to stand, his attempts faltered when she pushed lightly against his chest on her own smooth way up. Weren’t drunk people supposed to be clumsy? As soon as he rights himself, she’s against his chest again, playing with the fabric of his jacket.

                “You’re a young one, aren’t you?” She hummed, pushing even _closer_ if that was even possible. “Lucky for you, I’ve never much cared for someone’s age.” She reaches up to play with his hair as alarm bells rang through his mind, telling him to get out of the situation _now_.

                He leans away as far as he can without her falling again, too polite to let a lady, no matter how much she scared him, to fall to the ground. “What?” His instincts may understand the situation, but his brain was not catching up. Maybe he was misjudging her, he’s been known to do that. He reaches up to push her hand off his hair, only four girls were allowed to play with his hair and she wasn’t his sister. The moment his fingers tap her wrist, though, is the moment he suddenly cries out in pain. She was twisting his wrist. It wasn’t even in the playful way he would twist Mari’s wrist when she found herself in his stuff and refused to let go of it, it was as if the woman in front of him was trying to break his wrist.

                She rolls her eyes at his pained reaction, “aw, you’re not gonna act like a little baby, are you? Big boys don’t feel pain.” She drags him into a nearby building, not letting up on the twist to his wrist, before she pins him to a wall. “These are the dorms.” She smirked, “is your sister waiting for you?”

                His brow scrunched in confusion as he subtly rubbed his wrist, “n-no? I-I wanted to surprise her.” Her expression made him nervously push closer to the wall. She scared him. There was no way around it, she was terrifying.

                “Perfect then, we have all night.” She chuckled, letting him go. Immediately, he attempted to make a break for it when she grabbed the same wrist she had twisted again, dragging him down the hall in the opposite direction and she opens a door, pushing him in, then closes and locks it behind her. It looked like the stereotypical dorm room, all the way down to the two sides it was split between. On one side, it was obvious it belonged to the blonde girl since the other side was occupied by a young man laid out on the bed. Lance doesn’t like the way he’s staring. He _especially_ doesn’t like the way the blonde woman is running her hands up and down his chest over his shirt. He’s too uncomfortable and too shocked by her actions to speak.

                “Whoa, Nyma. Where’d you find this one?” Blinking, Lance takes a deep breath. Her name is Nyma. That’s a start.

                She smiles and flutters her eyelashes, “he was wandering around.” Her hands were gripping his arms too tight, nails digging into his flesh even through his usual jacket. He tries pulling away and escaping, but she blocks him easily. Wasn’t she drunk?

                He was so confused. “Uh, th-thank you for showing me where the dorms are,” he began, cursing the stutter at the beginning. “I think I can find my sister’s room by myself.” He tries to go around the other way but she gets in his way again.

                “Oh sweetie.” She laughed and, for some reason, the sound makes him even more uncomfortable than he was before. She turns to the man on the bed. “Isn’t he just adorable, Rolo?” She looks back at Lance with a haughty expression. “You don’t want to leave, you want to stay right here.”

                “What?” The word was almost barked out in his confusion. “N-no, I-“ he’s stopped when her lips land on his. Cringing, he pulls away quickly. That was his first kiss. It tasted terrible.

                “You must be broken,” Rolo’s voice catches his attention, causing him to look at the man in bewilderment. He was frowning but when he realized Lance was looking at him, he raised an eyebrow.

                “What?” He felt almost like a broken record but, honestly, he was trying to forget that a kiss was just forced on him. Trying to forget the feel of her lips.

                Rolo stretched a bit on the bed. “A boy like you refusing a kiss from a beautiful woman like Nyma?” He chuckles unkindly. “You’re lucky she’s even interested in such a scrawny kid.” Lance shrinks a little, the alarms growing louder. _Maybe he was broken_.

                “Oh, Rolo.” Nyma says, bringing Lance’s eyes back to her and she flutters her eyelashes at him again. “ _Honey_ , that’s what I’ve been telling the kid since I met him.” She brushes her fingers across his jaw, grabbing and tilting his chin. “I know he’s not much to look at but I think we could have some fun.” When he tries to pull back, her fingers dig harshly into his face and it almost feels like her nails are trying to make permanent indents.

                Rolo hummed in disinterest. “You have fun, I’ve got bio homework.” He dismisses himself from the conversation by pulling out a laptop.

                “Guess it’s just you and me then,” the grin she gives him sends unpleasant shivers down his spine. He tries to pull away again but this time she stops him before he gets anywhere. “Cutie pie, what’s your name?”

                “I-it’s Lance. Please let me go, I need to go find my sister. I-“ he’s stopped by her pushing her onto her bed and straddling him, completely ignoring him. He’s terrified. “Please stop touching me. I want to leave,” he pushes her away from when her smile suddenly turns into a dark glare as she twists his wrist, no his arm, and it _hurts please stop stop stop_ –

                “Don’t test me,” she whispers into his ear and let’s go of his arm again, so he pushes her away again.

                “No,” he mumbles, eyes frantically searching for an escape route.

                “What kind of boy are you?” She laughs that same bone-chilling laugh from before, straddling him more firmly as she pushes him onto his back again. “You’re fighting a girl who obviously wants to fuck and you’re way too weak to win.”

                “I-“ he stutters as he tries to squirm out from underneath her. “I don’t – you can’t –“

                “Oh, but I can.” She smiles sweetly, leaning down to kiss him again but this one isn’t like the peck from before. This one was hard, painful, and teeth clashed before she bites his lip. He wants to cry. He might already be crying but he can’t figure out whether he is for certain or not. “You’re a boy and I’m a girl. It isn’t the same when a girl does it to a boy, you see. It’s all okay. You want it, don’t you?”

                No.

                He squirms. On one hand, she feels nice against his body but- no.

                No.

                No.

                No no no nonono he doesn’t want it. “I don’t!” He knows he’s crying now.

                She doesn’t listen.

…

                He’s tired. He has no more tears left to cry. He has finger shaped bruises wrapped around his wrists, and his joints ache from all the twisting and pulling Nyma did. There’s something oily all over his face – lipstick. It’s Nyma’s lipstick. There are hickeys, bright red marks, as well as black and blue coloring his chest. Glancing to the side, Nyma is asleep. He can leave now. Right? Rolo chuckles at him, calling him all sorts of names as he teases Lance. Lance just can’t seem to care, he’s too tired to even hide his body from Rolo as he dresses himself.

                Still.

                Still.

                He can feel the man’s eyes on him as he pulls up his pants. He feels violated. That wasn’t what he was supposed to feel, was it? A beautiful girl wanted to have sex with him. A beautiful girl _did_ have sex with him. Wasn’t he supposed to feel good about that? No one had ever even wanted to date him before. They all said he was good brother-material but not good boyfriend-material – whatever that means. He wants to cry, but he doesn’t. He can’t.

                “You’re lucky, kid.” Rolo states as Lance drags himself out the door. “She doesn’t pick just anyone, y’know.” Lance shuts the door.

                Lucky.

                He was lucky.

                Nyma picked him so he was lucky.

                But.

                But still.

                He didn’t _feel_ lucky.

                He shook his head. He’s not going to think about it. He’s _not going to think about it_.

                It’s midnight when he gets to Allura’s dorm. It would have been earlier if he hadn’t caught sight of his reflection. Black streaks followed the lines that his glasses usually covered from the mascara he had put on that morning. Add on how Nyma’s lipstick was a bright pink, his face needed washed. So he stops by a communal restroom and washes the ruined makeup off before plucking out his contacts to toss out, putting on the spare glasses he always carried with him. The salt in his tears had blurred his contacts to uselessness. He was planning on throwing them out tomorrow anyways, it wasn’t like it was much of a loss. It was just a little disappointing that he wasn’t going to be able to see clearly tomorrow.

                When she opens the door, looking tired, he feels guilty. Then she perks up and pulls him in, not noticing how he winced at the pain.

                She didn’t notice.

                Should he feel good or bad that she didn’t notice? He decides on ‘happy’, after all it wasn’t like anything bad happened.

                A girl liked him so she had sex with him. It was the natural progression of things, right?

                He blinks hard to remove the image of her leaning over him – Allura doesn’t notice this either as she happily chats and introduces Lance to her roommate, Shay. His scalp still burns from her grip. He shook his head. He wasn’t going to think about it.

                He visits then he goes home. If Allura didn’t notice, then no one will notice.

                Or so he thinks.

                Hunk notices. He didn’t mean to shrink away from Hunk when the big guy initiated their usual greeting hug, he was just startled. It reminded him of how Nyma had grabbed him, and he _wasn’t going to think about it_. Just… the look Hunk gives him is absolutely heartbreaking. But, what can he do about it? He can’t go back in time. He can’t prevent something that has already happened. Because of this, he’s nervous and jittery. And it changes his interactions with Hunk.

                He makes the same mistake with Mrs. Garrett. He shrinks away when she reaches for something near him, stopping mid-conversation because he can’t for the _life_ of him remember what he was saying. She isn’t secretive about it. She calls his mom. Mamá is shocked and she immediately confronts him about it. He denies anything mamá questions. Did someone beat him up? No. Did someone pull a gun on him? No. Did someone violate him?... no. Did someone rape him?.... He shook his head. It isn’t the same if it’s a girl that does it to a boy. It probably wasn’t possible for a boy to be raped then.

                He refuses therapy. He’s eighteen years old now, he can refuse it.

                He acts like he’s fine.

                Because he is. Fine, that is. And eventually the sad looks stop.

 _They’re probably disappointed in me._ Immediately after he thinks this, he decides that it has to be true. Everyone around him is hesitant while talking with him, slow when moving near him, not near as close as they used to be.

                Mamá knows. Alfor knows. Hunk knows. Mrs. Garrett knows. Marinette, Vivienne, Josephine – they all know that something happened to Lance, they think something bad. Lance knows it wasn’t a bad thing, it was a good thing. But he doesn’t try to explain it to his little sisters. Or to anyone. Even when Allura comes back during winter break and finds out somehow – mamá told her, Alfor told her, Mari told her, she found out herself, he couldn’t tell _how_ she finds out – and almost refuses to go back for the second semester. Something happened to her little brother, her best friend, and she blamed herself for not noticing, for being too tired while preparing for a test when the weekend ended, whatever reason was not good enough because her little brother was hurt while on the same campus as her and she hadn’t protected him, even if she didn’t know he was there until after it was done and finished. _It was her fault._

               Lance didn’t know that she was blaming herself. He’s content in putting it in the past, forgetting the memories that haunt him in his sleep, he moves on in the waking world. Then he graduates. He has a full-ride scholarship and mamá is proud of him for it. He gets accepted to the same university Allura goes to. And he goes because it’s a prestigious school, a school known for only accepting the smart and those rich enough to fake it. And they have special classes for his minor that not many other schools have. They had field research classes, which meant that he could go into the ocean for a class, and isn’t that the coolest ever?

                He assumes she graduated already. He doesn’t think that she’ll be there at all. But she hasn’t and she is. She’s the same age as Allura, the same grade.

                He and Hunk are walking the hallways, mapping the place out and figuring out where they’re going to hang out in between classes and when they can hang out, when she bumps into him. He tries not to think that she did it on purpose but the surprise she exhibits is so obviously fake that any theatre troupe would cry at the poor acting. He can feel Hunk looking at him. He carefully keeps his eyes on her. Then she wraps her arms around his waist, so tight that he barely stops himself from wincing.

                “Make him go away, sweetie.” Her false sugary voice demands in a mumble next to his ear. “I’ve missed you so much. We need some alone time.”

                He’s terrified. He hasn’t felt this scared about something for almost a full year, since _that night_ , but he somehow manages to hide it as he shot Hunk a grin with confidence that he most certainly didn’t feel. Hunk huffs, shaking his head in exasperation, but continues walking with the map in his hands.

                No.

                No.

                Come back, don’t leave him with her, no _please_ , Hunk, nonono _no!_

                He doesn’t look back. And Nyma doesn’t waste her time.

                In mere minutes, he’s back in her dormroom and he’d _just_ forgotten how awful it felt when she touched him. It feels good by the end but… still. Still. He feels absolutely disgusting, dirty, awful, like trash. She doesn’t finish with him until late in the night. She doesn’t spend the entire time using his body like a toy, in fact she spends several hours looking at him. It isn’t with a loving gaze like he had so often imagined. She’s tracing his skin, pointing out imperfections and flaws here and there.

                The thing she sticks on for a while is the slight amount of fat on his stomach. It isn’t like anyone else would notice without being this close and this critical, so he hadn’t noticed himself. She pokes it, making fun of him. The only thing he could say in his defense was that Hunk’s cooking was great. She pinches it harshly, causing him to flinch in surprise. Laughing, she rolls both hands over it. He realizes she’s laughing _at_ him. But he doesn’t dare move. The last time hurt so much because he kept trying to escape, if he stays still then it shouldn’t hurt. “It was dark when I picked you,” she started with a dark chuckle. “You’re so very lucky, sweetie. If I’d gotten a good look at you then, I would have probably died from the disgust.”

                When he returns to the dorm, he avoids meeting Hunk’s gaze. He makes a joke before stating he’s tired, getting ready for bed out of view. He has marks this time as well but they aren’t near as painful as the last time so that meant he had been good for her.

                Nyma decides that he’s eating too much and demands that he stops. Thinking about it, he could see the logic. He was eating too much. Just that morning he had eaten three different times, regardless of the fact that it was half a poptart the first time, a small bowl of cereal the second time, and a sandwich as an early lunch. She doesn’t let him eat when she can see him. Even if he went to the lunchroom with Hunk, she’ll show up out of the corner of his eye while glaring at him so he just pretends like whatever he bought doesn’t exist as he forces himself to find topics to talk over with Hunk in the mostly one-sided conversation. And it works. It works for a while, but then Hunk starts noticing that he doesn’t eat as much as he used to. Starts urging him to eat, taking him back to the dorm to have him eat there. Thing is, she knows when she eats with Hunk. Knows when the big guy sneaks him snacks or makes him a meal. Then, one day, she gets fed up.

                “Fine, you want to eat? Eat!” So she gives him food, demanding he eat it all. When he states that he’s full, she tells him to eat more. Starts shoving it in his face to get him to eat it. Then his stomach hurts, _so bad_ , and it’s painfully distended and she presses against it. “Look at this. You’re so fucking ugly, such a little bitch.” She hisses at him as she pushes harder. “Look at you. You’re so disgusting.” He’s starting to agree with her.

She pinches, pushes, digs the heel of her palm into the sensitive parts of his stomach until he vomits out all the food she had given him then he retches at the smell that was now stuck to him because _of course_ he’s so disgusting that he manages to throw up on himself. She laughs. Rolo comes in after she begins laughing and laughs at him too.

                Then Nyma pulls him into their bathroom, runs him a bath, and washes him so _lovingly_ that Lance’s breath catches in his throat. “Sweetheart,” she flutters her eyelashes again. He had read once that when a beautiful girl flutters her eyes at you, it was supposed to produce little butterflies in your stomach. When Nyma does it, a cold weight seems to settle in his. Rolo had said it that one time and many times since Nyma had picked him back up, he was _broken_. Nyma clearly agreed. Maybe that was just proof of it. He focuses back on what she’s saying. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten so mad at you. I just worry for you, I worry for your health. I want you to be healthy so you can live a long time, sweetie. Being fat isn’t _healthy_.” She presses kisses to his shoulders and gets in the bath with him. She towers over him on her knees above him, and he thinks he loves her. Nevermind that he was broken, that he was ugly, disgusting, _fat_. He thinks he loves her.

                “Of course,” he murmurs in response, looking up at her. “I’m sorry I ate. If I’d just listened to you, you wouldn’t have to worry.”

                “That’s right, cutie.” She says before washing his hair. Then she takes what she really wants and leaves Lance alone in the bath. _No matter_ , he thinks. _I love her_. He finishes washing himself off, zoning out as he scrubbed at his skin until it was nearing red behind all the black and blue, and only managing to remember to get out of the bath when his fingers and feet are pruny and the water is nearing icy temperatures.

                At the end of the semester, Nyma decides that she wants Lance to come live with her and Rolo in their apartment. Not the dorm, no, the dormroom was just for when they don’t want to drive back home or want to do what they will. They have an actual apartment. Lance doesn’t want to.

                He spends the next day with Hunk, avoiding the places Nyma usually found them at. That night, he goes to her. It’s such an ingrained part of his routine that he couldn’t resist going. She isn’t angry, like the time with the food. No, she’s livid. And Rolo gets involved, for the first time.

                His whole body aches and he has to strain to remember if his body hurt this much the first time. He doesn’t think so. Then again, his brain feels scrambled so he could be wrong.

                He attempts to hide the new bruises, the black eye, and his obvious limping from Hunk by simply diving into his bed the moment he gets back to their dorm. “Hey Lance.” It’s an offhand greeting, obvious the big guy hasn’t seen anything, he was focused on the journal in his lap. Lance shifted to get more comfortable, his breath catching at the sharp sting that travels up his spine.

                “Hey, Hu _nk_.” He winces when his voice breaks, having shifted his torso to a different angle, and hopes to any celestial being that _maybe_ , just maybe, Hunk doesn’t notice. It wasn’t to be.

                “Lance?” He heard the journal get set down harshly before footsteps make their way to him. “You okay buddy?” He ducks his head further into his pillows.

                “Yep, all good in the hood, a-okay, nothing wrong here whatsoever.” The air seemed to freeze. He was tempted to look up, see why everything suddenly got quiet, why there was no movement, why it seemed as if Hunk was no longer breathing. Then there was a sudden blinding light as he was quickly turned onto his back by a large hand pushing on his ribcage and _oh god that hurts_. He barely managed to keep hold of the pillow on his face, hiding the black eye that he knew was there and was glaringly obvious on him because Hunk would freak out about it and he didn’t want Hunk to freak out about it. He tried to do some mental calculations on how much his shirt, which had slid up some in the turn, was covering and realized that if Hunk looked at the bare skin there, he would see  _at least_ one of his bruises. Hunk looked. He could tell from the intake of breath.

                “Lance?” He closed his eyes when he heard how small Hunk’s voice was. He hadn’t heard his voice sound like that since the first time Hunk had asked for a hug, one of the silently comforting ones. It had been years since then. And he felt even worse than before when he realized he was the reason for the change of tone. Because he couldn’t keep the bruises hidden well enough. He was just that much of a failure. “What…?” He tugs on the pillow in Lance’s grip, never strong enough to outright pull it out but enough to let Lance know what Hunk wanted – and that he wouldn’t leave Lance alone until he got what he wanted. So he let his grip go, avoided his best friend’s eyes as he carefully pushed himself into a seated position. There was silence between the two of them as Lance played with his bracelet. “Is this from that girl, Nyma? She’s the one that did whatever made you jumpy last year, isn’t she? Lance, you need to leave her!”

                “I love her.” He tries to explain. “And she loves me.”

                “Lance, this is not love. This is very much not love!” Hunk looks scared, panicked, and a little nauseous. “This is abuse!”

                “She didn’t do anything that I didn’t deserve,” he says. Hunk wouldn’t understand, he doesn’t see Lance as he is. Doesn’t see that he’s ugly, disgusting, broken. Hunk pushed away at his words, as if Lance had physically slapped him, stunned for a moment before he rushed to their bathroom. Lance winces at the sound of Hunk throwing up, the food incident still rather fresh in his mind. He disgusts his best friend enough that he’s vomiting, he frowns at the thought. Maybe Hunk _does_ see him right then.

                Hunk tries to convince Lance not to move in with her, pulling out any reason he could possibly think of, even thinks of incentives to get him to stay, but Lance leaves anyways. He sends an email home to say he won’t be able to make it for winter break.

                It’s okay, because he loves Nyma and she loves him.

                But sometimes Nyma _doesn’t_ like him and she tells him when she doesn’t.

                “I hate you in blue. Looks gross.” It’s an offhand comment, but after that he makes certain that the only blue on him is his eyes and his bruises. His bracelet was handed off to Hunk without any explanation. He had never seen the big guy fall into tears as fast as he did at that moment.

                He loves her.

                “Stop wearing makeup. You’re not a girl.” This one he hesitates over, just as much as he did before slapping the bracelet in Hunk’s hand. Makeup was important to him. _Allura_ taught him how to wear makeup. Thinking back, when was the last time he saw Allura? Their schedules never coincided enough for him to meet up with her and Nyma didn’t like him leaving her side. He stops wearing makeup.

                He wears the clothes that Rolo and Nyma buy him. It makes him feel ugly, even more disgusting than usual. At least it fits then. He believes it whenever Rolo or Nyma call him ugly.

                He loves her, after all.

                Sometimes Rolo takes what he wants. But that’s okay because Nyma says it’s okay.

                Sometimes both Rolo _and_ Nyma take what they want. Again, that’s okay. It hurts more than anything else but that’s okay too. They’re both rough on him, but it’s okay.

                Nyma says it’s okay so it’s okay. She and Rolo share all the time, so it’s okay. She likes sharing Lance because she doesn’t have to look at him and that’s okay too. He’s ugly, disgusting, broken, he wouldn’t want to look at him either.

                Rolo isn’t as rough as Nyma. Yes, he is rough but not as much as Nyma. But it feels so much worse. It makes his skin crawl in all the worst ways. But that’s okay.

                He loves Nyma, so it’s okay.

                He knows he loves her because she says so.

                “You love me,” she says. “You love me and you won’t ever leave me, now will you?”

                He shakes his head no. He loves her and he won’t ever leave her.

                And that’s how it works.

                He becomes familiar with the bruises, soon not even noticing if there’s a new one anywhere. He now knows when a bruise will become easily visible, will cause Hunk to turn that odd shade of skin color, will get attention on him. Soon, he doesn’t even mind when she hits him or twists his arm or pulls his hair. She’s a girl so it’s different.

                If he really wanted, he could push her away. The fact that he isn’t ever able to truly push her away means that he wants it. So he even stops trying to push her away.

                He loves her and she’s beautiful. He tells her so, while petting her hair.

                She cackles. “And you’re hideously ugly.” Rolo yanks on his hair sharply, causing his eyes to water. She kisses the tears away.

                He loves her.

                Sometimes though… sometimes he does things that anger her. He doesn’t do them with the intention of upsetting her, he just does them. Like, before the second semester starts, he gets a job at Allura’s uncle’s diner. Hunk works there as a cook and Coran is the manager as well as the owner, so his goofy presence is always around the place. When Nyma found out, she got so mad.

                She was so mad that she kicked him out onto the streets.

                He had nowhere to go, no idea of what to do, so he sits on a park bench for a few hours while shivering and sobbing over angering her. Hunk finds him, takes him home. Neither of them mention the loss of his weight nor do they mention the beautiful patterns of bruises staining his lackluster skin or even the cuts that he knew were going to scar – Nyma and Rolo found it fun to rub salt in fresh cuts before picking scabs to do it again when they found out he wasn’t going to make the noises they like so much when they slap or punch him now.

                The rebellious moments don’t last long but they always end with him losing something else. His knitting supplies were cut up and trashed. His spare surfboard, the one he brought with him here, was splintered and broken in half. For his job at the diner, he had to give up his leisure books. The only thing he wouldn’t let them take from him was school.

                He goes back to school because he _promised_ Hunk. And Nyma has no say over this.

                The night he tells her so is terrible. Lance still feels disgusting. It’s different now, though. He feels disgusting, not because she had sex with him but because he’s not _good enough_ for her. Why did she even keep him around when she had Rolo? Maybe it was because she liked to hurt her partner? He had never seen her hit Rolo. If that was the only reason, then he was okay with it. If it meant that she kept him, then he was okay with that reason.

                He starts working out. Maybe if he gets muscles again, he won’t be as ugly as before. Nyma won’t have a reason to avoid looking at him anymore. He only eats when the dizziness and exhaustion set in.

                He wears makeup again. Not that much, just enough to hide the bruises and the dark circles under his eyes. Nyma hates it. He reasons that if he does it just to get through the day and not to feel confident and beautiful – what absolute bullshit, he had never been beautiful – like he did before then Nyma won’t be as angry. It’s just concealer and foundation, that’s all. By wearing just the two, he almost feels like he’s betraying Allura on a different level than he did when he stopped wearing the bracelet she got him and when he stopped wearing makeup to begin with.

                He hates his life. Not because of Nyma or Rolo, god no. He loves Nyma and Rolo is part of the package deal so, by extension, he sorta loves Rolo. No, he loves them so it isn’t because of them that he hates his life. It’s because of what he is, how _broken_ and _disgusting_ he is, that he contemplates ending it once or twice before the end of the second week of the second semester. Nyma shouldn’t have to deal with how pathetic he is.

                How pathetic he is that he’s too much of a coward to even get close to committing to the act.

                His life had become an endless cycle, honestly. It’ll start with him thinking _I love her_ when he wakes up and sees Nyma nearby, then it’ll continue in an endless cycle of events that _almost_ get Hunk to convince him to leave her, to break up with her, when he looks at her smile or wakes up and sees her nearby and remembers how much he loves her. He looks at her smile and smiles back because it’s not as scary as it used to be – then she laughs at his smile and calls it disgusting. She shouldn’t need to see so much of his pathetic, disgusting self. So he tries to avoid smiling near her. She shouldn’t have to suffer through that view. He still smiles for Hunk and customers because that was what was to be _expected_ from him.

                She says she loves him and of course he believes her. Why wouldn’t he? Why _shouldn’t_ he believe her? He knows she loves him just as much as he loves her. After all, she _chose_ him. She could have chosen anyone, someone more beautiful than him, someone not disgusting like him, someone who isn’t _broken_ like him, but she chose him. And he loved her for it. Right?

                She starts going on a lot of business trips. She never went on them before, but suddenly she gets this job. Both her _and_ Rolo. They get a job and it sends them away. Sometimes for even a full week. But she won’t tell him when he asks what it is. “I’m your boyfriend, Nyma.” He ignores how wrong it sounds to say it out loud as he frustratedly tries to get the information. “And you’re my girlfriend. I want to be part of your life.” It sounds like a lie. Why does it sound like a lie? No, he _does_ want to be part of her life. The girlfriend part sounds just as wrong to say out loud as saying he was her boyfriend. He ignores it all as she pats his cheek lovingly as she so often did when he proved he was not only ugly and broken but also stupid.

                “Love,” he melts at the nickname that she says with a sickeningly sweet tone of voice. “It’s nothing really. Just a way to make ends meet.” With her gone, he has no real reason to stay in their – _her and Rolo’s_ – apartment. He realizes this when he is left sitting and staring blankly at the bed on a day without class or work. All of his previous hobbies have been forbidden in the apartment. He’d have to take the train home to get his surfboard and he was terrified by the idea that Nyma might have Rolo break that one over his knee as well. That was papá’s board. It stayed hung up on the wall unless he was having a particularly bad day. When was the last time he had a good day…?

                When he was left alone, his thoughts accumulated. When he started thinking negatively towards Rolo and, by extension, Nyma, he knew he had to get up and do something. They were going to be gone for a month, he needed something to distract himself with.

                Hunk convinces him to get his own apartment. So he does.

                He moves into his new apartment and makes sure that it is truly _his_ apartment. He gets a dining table that would be able to sit all six of his siblings as well as his mamá, himself, and Alfor. He decorates with the quirkiest things he can find. Buys all sorts of funky looking blankets to decorate his home with, all nine chairs at his table were mismatched to add character, and he finally retrieved the bracelet from Hunk. That took a place of honor as the last thing he would see when he exited his apartment – it hung from his door like a Christmas wreath would, strung up using yarn that was hot glued to the top of the door. It caught on the doorframe but that was okay. He was able to admire the bracelet every day before he left for work or class.

                When Nyma gets back, she’s furious.

                And in Lance’s mind, she has every right to be.

                Whenever she’s home, he stays at their – _Rolo and Nyma’s_ – apartment. But she’s not home often anymore. She’s sometimes gone for many months at a time, but when she gets back she stays for a long while.

                When she’s gone, he lets people stay at his apartment. His little home.

                He babysits his nieces and nephews, his little cousins again. He almost cries when they have to go back home the first time. Marinette comes over for a weekend or so, sometimes bringing Vivienne or Josephine with her. That first time, it felt as if everyone was walking on eggshells. Lance was nervous about his little sisters being with him, scared that Nyma might come home early or he got the date wrong (he never did get the date wrong) and she would hurt his sisters. Mari was the first one to do it, though.

                She carved her name into the dining table when he wasn’t looking. Straight up, grabbed a paring knife and carved out her birth name, not even shortening it to Mari. Viv followed suit and does the same for Josie, the ten-year-old watching over her older sister’s movements. Then his nephews and nieces convince him to do it for them. His little cousins join in, even Brycen and Emmanuel do it when their youngest child convinces them, their wives joining in as an afterthought.

                He can’t describe the feeling it causes him whenever he sees the table. Whenever he feels like Nyma hates him because his love will never be enough, because he’s disgusting, because he’s tainting her by even being in the same room as her, because he’s too broken for anyone to really love him, he traces each name one-by-one and reminds himself that people do love him.

                When he asks Nyma to sign it as well, she refuses then threatens to break the table when he asks a second time later that night.

                The diner is nearby the train station and it always attracts the strangest people. He supposes it shouldn’t surprise him since uncle Coran was the owner but still. The fact that it’s close to the train station explains why they almost always get someone running through for a quick coffee to go or a pastry that they can eat real quick on their way to get on their train. It also explains why there were so many kids and teenagers that ran.

                He takes care of them to the best of his abilities, sometimes even feeling like a hypocrite when he says something.

                A young woman, barely seventeen years old, who is pregnant. She’s running away because her parents want her to abort so she won’t taint their social status. Lance is shocked. He didn’t think that was something that happened in real life. When a game such as Dragon Age shows such a situation, it’s done in such a way that it just doesn’t connect to the possibility that it happens in real life. He thought that it might have been something that happened a long time ago when there were nobles and serfs and knights, but it still happened? Either way, he knows that it was her choice and she had chosen to keep her unborn child so she should be allowed to do so. So he lets her stay in his apartment – Nyma won’t be back for a while, it should be okay.

                She stays in his apartment, sleeping in his room while he took the couch. He buys her groceries, whatever she wants and whatever he finds out she likes, and trusts her completely and absolutely. She carved her name into the table, he had choked up when she quietly asked if she could. Next to her name was a smaller name, the name she had claimed was going to be the name of her unborn child. She said she would name them Alex, that way they could make their own choices in life. She didn’t have a happy smile when she said this but Lance didn’t feel as if she thought of him as close enough to pry. She lives with him until they find a trustworthy organization to help her stay on her feet and Lance pays for her train ticket without any fuss. She promised to return someday to repay him and introduce him to little Alex.

                Nyma gets back.

                And she finds out.

                No matter how hard Lance tried to keep this secret from her, no matter how much he labored over the cover-up story for the two names to make it believable if Nyma ever stepped into his apartment and _for some reason_ happened to notice the two names, she finds out. And there isn’t enough foundation, concealer, or color corrector that he can rub over his eye to hide the bruising.

                A runaway child stops in the diner one day. Nyma is still home. He recognizes the kid from the news. Nyma will notice. Lance sits the kid down at a booth and sets him up with a burger, cheesy fries, and a milkshake. “I- I didn’t order anything.” The kid is flabbergasted, to say the least. He looks up at Lance before looking back at the food, shrinking in on himself. “I don’t have any money.” He slides into the booth across from the kid with his signature grin, trying to subtly roll his ankle to get the throbbing to settle down some.

                “That’s okay,” it’s almost too easy to say these words even though he has very rarely ever said them to any other human being. “This one’s on me. Completely free.” The kid straightens up and excitedly reached for the burger, pausing halfway to his mouth with an uncertain expression. Lance’s grin softens to a small smile. “Go ahead. If you don’t eat it, it’s just gonna go to waste.” He nods encouragingly to the kid and it was mere seconds before the burger was gone and the kid was dipping his fries in the milkshake. He lets the kid stay at his apartment, letting him sleep in his room like he had for the woman. But, unlike that time, he doesn’t sleep on the couch. He stays with Nyma because Nyma is home.

                Nyma doesn’t like the kid. The feeling is mutual, it appears. The kid makes demands that Lance can’t obey. He demands that Lance stay away from her, he demands Lance run away like he had. The thing is, Lance can’t. To change the subject, Lance asks him about his home life. He didn’t look abused to Lance. Eventually, he opens up and states that he had run away because his parents were going to get divorced – he didn’t want that and he thought that maybe it was his fault that they fought all the time. Lance has Hunk talk to the kid about what it meant to get divorced while he finds the kid’s parents. It wasn’t all that hard to find their number, even though he knows he might get in trouble for calling them directly rather than calling the police and having them deal with it. It was harder convincing them that he had their kid and he wanted to come home. When the parents come to get their kid, they laugh at his jokes and each carve their name on his table. When they leave, he lets his hand run over the three new names.

                The mom and dad had both seen his bruises. His epic trip and fall made sure of that, even though he had pushed his shirt down as quick as possible. The man seemed to decide that it wasn’t his issue to deal with so it wasn’t any of his business. The woman, though, she very quietly asks Lance if he’s okay. As if she expecting some buff man to come from down the hallway the moment she asks. He almost chokes. He’s touched by the gesture. “It’s… complicated.” He settles for. She meets his gaze with a serious one of her own.

                “If someone is hurting you physically, mentally, or emotionally and refuses to change,” she says with all the serious authority of the mother that she is. “Leave them. Leave them and never look back, before it’s too late.” The words stick with Lance, even if he’s too scared to act on them.

                It’s easy for people outside of the situation to talk about it, to say that he’s stupid for not walking away from Nyma without a second glance, that he should call the police, that he should do _something_ other than just take it. But there’s something about the way she says it, the way her gaze held his, the way she asked him if he was okay, it makes him feel like she _knows_. She _knows_ because she had been in such a situation before. And she was just thinking about him. Which only made him think of Mrs. Garrett. She hadn’t gotten out of the situation before it was too late. Now she was confined to a wheelchair. And that was the scariest thought to him. He didn’t want to lose the mobility of his legs. That meant that he wouldn’t be able to surf ever again. He pushes the thoughts away because Nyma would never do that to him, she loves him too much.

                After the nice family leaves, he helps dozens more people. Some notice, some comment, some ignore it, some offer to take him with them while they run. Every single one of them signs their name. No one really stands out though. Until a man comes in one day.

                That wasn’t the part that stuck out to Lance the most when he walked in. No, the first thing he notices is that the man is _handsome_. And it scares him to realize that he was attracted to someone other than Nyma. That had never happened before, he hadn’t even been interested in Nyma when she chose him because he was _broken_ , which meant that he shouldn’t find _anyone_ attractive. Much less someone that isn’t Nyma.

                He doesn’t notice the scar across the bridge of his nose until after the man had sat down. He goes over to take the man’s order and only then, nearly eight minutes after the man had walked in, did he notice the flat and empty sleeve hanging limply at his side. “What can I get for ya?” He pretends he’s one of the stereotypical diner waitresses from the TV, the only thing that ruins the image is that he doesn’t have gum to smack and he has a gigantic grin. His accent is obviously fake, as well. The man seems to realize what he’s doing as soon as he looks over at the Latino and there’s an amused and surprised huff of laughter. It doesn’t touch his lips though.

                “Just…” the man hesitates before he shakes his head. “Just a water for now. I’ll let you know if I think of anything else.” Grabbing a glass and filling it with ice water before setting it in front of the man, playfully moving the straw out of the man’s reach with a grin when he goes to grab it before setting it in the glass with a flourish and a monologue that he honestly didn’t pay any attention to. _God, I hope I didn’t say anything stupid._ The guy was cute, handsome, gorgeous – he was having issues believing that the man was actually sitting in front of him and not a figment of his imagination. He almost got the man to smile at it. Now he really hoped he didn’t say anything stupid or offensive and it was just a pity smile. He freezes when he realizes that the man was reading his nametag. He feels nervous, almost uncomfortable for a moment, before the man looks away. Taking that as his cue to shoo, he made sure to refill coffees and all the customers were content for the moment.

                The man calls his name like any other customer does to get his attention but he almost missed it because the beauty called him ‘ _Mr. McClain_ '. He had tripped when he heard it, turning to the door with wide eyes before realizing that he was being called. “S-sorry. No one’s ever called me that. That was my dad, last time I heard someone say ‘Mr. McClain’ was at his funeral.” The man’s eyes widened and he stumbled over his words in an attempt to apologize. “Nah, it’s cool. Just call me Lance. Also, I’d recommend calling everyone that works here by their first name, especially the big guy making your food. Not exactly fond of his father. Can’t really blame him, the dude was a dick.” Lance shrugged like it wasn’t a situation that he was intimately familiar with, leaning onto his left foot to give his right leg a break. “Anyways, did you decide on what you want?”

                “O-oh, uh, the um strawberry cheesecake.” His eyes were still wider than before Lance had reacted to being called. He smiled warmly at the man.

                “Excellent choice!” He puts the plate in front of the man with a fork-spoon bundle on his way to refill a regular’s coffee mug. The man stays long after he finishes and pays for the cheesecake, signing his name as ‘Takashi Shirogane’. Honestly? Lance doesn’t have it in him to tell the man to leave or go home. For all he knew, the guy’s girlfriend broke up with him and kicked him out of her apartment or some other cliché like that.

                Eventually, it hits the end of Hunk’s shift. When Hunk’s shift ended, that meant that Lance also left or he was left by himself. He chooses the latter, informing Hunk that he would finish cleaning by himself, and assures his best friend he’ll be fine. An empty café was less scary than upsetting Nyma and he did that on a near daily basis. By the time he’s ready to leave, the place _sparkles_ like a Disney princess had done the cleaning rather than a college boy. Then he’s left staring into space as he tries to figure out how to get the man to leave the diner so he could lock up.

                On the one hand, the guy was attractive and Lance shouldn’t be thinking this – he has Nyma! On the other hand, the guy looked lost, as if he had only wandered into this diner by complete accident and had no clue why he was even there. With how he had reacted to Lance asking him what he wanted, it wasn’t that farfetched of an idea.

                When dark eyes – they’re grey, he realizes with a start – meet his, he takes a moment to notice that he had blatantly been staring at the guy. Lance clears his throat awkwardly, his eyes flicking away. “Do you have somewhere that you’re uh, planning on going?” Takashi hesitates and that pretty much gives Lance an answer anyways.

                “No,” he admits. “I don’t have somewhere I’m planning to go to.” **_This guy is clearly dangerous, Lance, don’t do it!_**   Lance imagines he can hear Hunk’s voice warning him away from Takashi, in that same jittery way that he always warned Lance to not do things he was going to do anyways. He focuses back on what Takashi is saying. “Where’s the nearest motel? Or cheap hotel?” Lance snorts.

               “No, nope, not gonna happen.” He smirks at Takashi as he pulls the uniform apron – a nice blue that he had completely rejected when it was offered to him. The only reason he had taken it was because Hunk looked like he was going to start bawling and get snot all over his own yellow apron and Coran had gently insisted that it was the only apron they had, after all Nyma wouldn’t visit him at work – off, moving the tips he got from the hidden pocket to his own pocket. “Mamá would _murder_ me in my sleep if I let you stay at any of the shit motels nearby and all the hotels around here are expensive.” It wasn’t a lie, neither half of the statement, but it was more said to solidify his decision. “C’mon, stay at my apartment. Completely free of charge, I won’t even ask for a tip.” He grins good-naturedly at the hesitant man. After hanging his apron in its place, because he was not going to let Nyma see him with blue, he studies a spot on the floor – no matter how rough he was with the stain, it was stuck there. Coran hasn’t let him know what it came from but he was under the suspicion that it was a bomb or something. Like, a tiny science fair type bomb.

                The man gets up, drawing Lance’s gaze back to him and _why was he so unfairly attractive?_ He was giving Lance a natural, while small, smile. “Thank you,” he nods, and the relief that Lance felt was strange. He had never felt so intensely as if he needed to be approved by the people he helped. With the relief came a strange bouncy feeling, as if nothing could destroy his mood, so he skipped as he led Takashi outside of the diner, pausing only to lock the door, and to his car. It was a small, beat-up car – Nyma wouldn’t accept anything else as his car, even if he had longingly fallen in love with a sparkly navy car across the lot – that he was almost certain looked better when he bought it with Nyma before Nyma had taken it with her. He couldn’t even tell anyone who asked what type of car it was, just that it was a Toyota, because Nyma had all the information. On the drive back, Takashi informed him that his name was Shiro. He can work with that.

                He leads Shiro to his bedroom, insisting that he take it when Shiro looked hesitant and almost started arguing with Lance about the bed, and he grabbed one of the softer blankets that he had collected along with a Pokémon pillow that he had grabbed on a whim while looking for décor while showing Shiro where the hoard of blankets and pillows was.

                He falls asleep quickly on the couch.

                It never happens quickly, usually his thoughts are circling themselves and he ends up exercising to calm them.

                But this time, he just.

                Falls asleep, without a single worry.

                The next morning, though, he’s up and dressed for the day before dawn has even properly risen. So he makes pancakes when the clock hits 7, early morning light starting to brighten through the fall chill. He makes normal buttermilk pancakes. He makes some with chocolate chips in them. He makes a couple with blueberries, he likes blueberries. Maybe Shiro does too? If not, he’ll just put the pancakes in the freezer for the next person he lets stay with him. Or whenever he can avoid Nyma’s notice. He’s whistling, he dimly notices. He pauses, tilting his head in thought. When was the last time he whistled or hummed or even sang? Shaking his head, he flipped the pancake to make it evenly golden. What was the song though? It was from Brycen’s oldest child, he knew that much. She had her favorites like most six-year-olds did. Isabel absolutely adored Trolls. He giggled, thinking of how excited she was to introduce the movie to him. He went back to whistling, even if he had no clue which song it was, it was stuck in his head for some reason. His brain was weird that way, he rolls his eyes.

                Grabbing the plate, he turned to put it on the table when he noticed something that wasn’t there before. Flinching back in surprise, he almost dropped the plate of pancakes when he realized he wasn’t alone. Takashi – no, Shiro was leaning against the doorframe, looking even more unfairly attractive than the night before considering the fact that he looked like he had just woken up. “Holy shit, what are you? A fucking ninja or something?!” He can’t help the high-pitch of his voice, but it’s totally worth it. Why? Shiro’s whole face brightens up, the scar on his face near disappearing as he laughed heartily. “Aye, Dios mío!” His voice is back to normal as he complains jokingly, grin set firmly in place. “Sit at the table, here here, don’t be a stranger.” Lance ushered Shiro to sit in front of a plate that he had already cut for Shiro, having fully expected to put it in the fridge or something while he waited for the scarred man to wake.

                Shiro’s eyes immediately began dragging around the table, almost looking bewildered by the amount of names scarred forever into the table. Lance chuckled a little at Shiro’s expression. “It was started by my little sister.” His hand trailed the markings of his now seventeen-year-old sister’s name. “She’s on the track to become a comic artist. Anyways, she had grabbed a knife when I wasn’t looking, I think I was cleaning up after lunch, and carved her name in before urging Vivienne,” he moved his hand to the neater marks, his now fourteen-year-old sister’s name. “To do the exact same thing. Viv wrote out Josie’s name and was almost finished when I walked in. I was too stunned to do anything about a ten-year-old carving something on my table.” He smiled wide before he continued talking. “They looked so proud for having destroyed my new table. Then they encouraged the rest of my family to do it too, and I guess the lack of complaint on my part sounded like permission. It’s nice, though. It reminds me that I’m not,” he swallows back the word he was going to use. _It reminds me that I’m not_ , “alone.” _Unloved_. Shiro looked intrigued by the names, running his fingers across the closest one to him. _Viktor_. Emmanuel’s 8-year-old son. “Everyone who has stayed with me signed it too.” _Except Nyma_. “Would you like to write your name as well?” The words fall out before he can stop himself and his heart nearly stops at the instant panic on Shiro’s face. _Of course, why would he want to?_ Lance forcibly shoved those thoughts out of his mind, rationally observing the possibilities. Shiro’s arm isn’t all that strong. Maybe that’s why. He had struggled using the fork when he was eating the cheesecake. He was struggling in his attempts to pick up the fork for his pancakes.

                Cautiously, he placed the knife he kept at the ready into Shiro’s hand and gently guides Shiro’s hand to carve out his name, putting pressure when it became obvious that Shiro was willing to leave his mark. Then he smiles, replacing the knife, moving away to clean the mess he made before serving himself a single buttermilk pancake.

                Shiro stays for a while.

                Lance insists that he does, since it never seemed as if Shiro knew where he was going to go when he tried to leave. He was leaving so he didn’t bother Lance anymore. That was unacceptable.

                Shiro makes some demands of his own, most notable one being a full conversation. “If I’m staying here, you should have your bed back. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

                “No, nope, nuh-uh, not gonna happen.” Lance planted his fists on his hips to show how ‘not okay’ he was with the idea. “There is no way that I’m letting my guest sleep on the couch. Not only is it incredibly rude to do so, my mamá would throw something at my head if I even considered it.” _Not really_. Ever since his senior year of high school, whenever he managed to see his mother, she was very careful around him. She tried to avoid doing anything that might cause him to flinch, and it killed him every time she tried to hug him like she used to and he was so startled from the movement that he took a step back. It didn’t kill him that he reacted that way, no, the expression of heart-wrenching pain on her face and how often she had to turn her head away so she didn’t outright cry in front of him.

                “Then let’s share.” His brain stuttered to a halt. Share his bed? With this god-tier attractive man? That didn’t sound like a good idea but it was so _tempting._ Somehow, though, Shiro manages to convince him to watch anime into the late hours of the night where it seemed pointless to leave the bed to go sleep on the couch. As it turns out, Shiro enjoyed Fullmetal Alchemist but Lance felt more inclined to watch Free!, though it most certainly wasn’t because of Makoto. _Especially_ not because of Rin. It was because it was a swimming anime. He loves to swim so it’s obviously the reason. When Sousuke showed up, Lance couldn’t help the conflicted feelings he had towards the man. Then there was Kisumi and he made Lance laugh a _lot_. Lance didn’t notice the smiles Shiro would give him while watching Free!.

                Lance makes an executive decision. Their first weekend together, Lance drags him to the beach. There was a board rental shack so he rented two surfboards, ignoring the weird looks he got from the guy in charge of the shack. It’s been two months since Nyma had been home, which meant that the bruises were either gone or faded enough to not notice against his tanned skin. So he wears trunks for the first time in a _long_ time. It didn’t matter to him that the breeze was nippy and the ocean was probably going to be colder than he was used to. Shiro was wearing a ratty T-shirt and trunks as well, though he was giving Lance weird looks too. Apparently, Shiro thinks he’s crazy for wearing just trunks as well. Or something. It isn’t quite the same expression as the shack owner’s.

                He teaches Shiro the basics, though it’s difficult to change it to match Shiro’s missing limb. A lot of what he taught Allura needs to be altered so it fit with Shiro’s body but he manages. Somehow. The ocean breeze and the salt on his face makes him feel alive. He hadn’t been surfing since a few months before Rolo broke his board. That had been over a year ago. Which meant it was nearing two years since he last went surfing.

                Shiro stays for around two weeks.

                Then he goes back home. Nyma had returned home halfway through the second week. She knew when Shiro left. She couldn’t do anything when Shiro was there. But. She was furious.

                Rolo is laughing at him.

                His body aches. It’s a strangely familiar feeling now. As is the feeling of her running her fingers through his hair to comfort him. He vaguely remembered hating the feeling. Now, though, it just made him feel numb. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You know I love you, it’s just that… I worry about your safety. I’d really prefer if you ask me before spending time with other people, love.” His body warms all over in that vaguely disgusting way that it always does whenever she uses her petnames or says she love him. It always made him want to run away. But he can’t. Nyma loves him and he loves her so it’s okay.

                He nods in response. He would speak but his lip is too swollen and bloody. She smiles, satisfied with his weak nod, and taps his lips before standing up – causing him to wince at the sting.

                Shiro comes back. Shiro comes back, the only person he had helped along his path, and he brought his friends. It isn’t that long after Nyma had busted his lip but he waves Shiro’s concern off with a grin. He hit his face with the rental surfboard when he wiped out.

                The first introduced is Katie Holt. Pidge Gunderson, she corrects with an easy grin. Apparently, her mom remarried and she liked Samuel Gunderson more than she had liked her biological father. She also explained that she was bigender – some days, she preferred to be treated as a guy versus being treated as her biological gender. She would tell him each day which gender to refer to her with, she informs him, as it was more a day to day thing for her. Today is female. He soon finds out the differences between female Pidge and male Pidge. She preferred direct confrontation while he preferred to take backdoors and let things fester. That was the main difference. Shiro informs him there were other subtler things, but he uses that as his main tell as he gets to know both sides better. When he finds out that they run a science blog, he immediately bookmarks it on his laptop. They were a little genius and it was so cool to Lance. The green bandanna she wore to keep her bangs and the rest of her hair separated was cute and he kinda wished he had a blue one – but he wasn’t going to wear it because Nyma doesn’t like blue.

                The second introduced seemed to immediately hate Lance. Keith Gyeong had an outdated hairstyle (honestly, he thought mullets had died before the year 2000) but the ‘edgy’ fingerless gloves he wore was almost adorably endearing. Shiro had talked about Keith before, stated that they had near grown up together, though he was cutely blushing at the same time. Now Lance knew. Keith was attractive. Not the god-tier that Shiro was but still very attractive. And now Lance had to wonder if he was so irreparably broken that he wasn’t attracted to Nyma or Rolo physically but he was attracted to two complete strangers. He doesn’t mention his confusion to Nyma.

               Matthew Holt was Pidge’s older brother. “Just call me Matt, cutie.” He winks at Lance as they shake hands and he almost shrank away at just the nickname. Shiro sighed before telling Lance that Matt was actually asexual and aromantic, so all the flirtation was absolutely harmless and not intended to be taken seriously. Matt simply pouted. “Man, why you gotta ruin my image like this? Why are you like this?” As it turns out, Matt was the first one to realize how Nyma ran the relationship. When she abruptly walked in without warning as he was setting up a game for everyone to play, he had immediately straightened as she looked unkindly towards the five guys (Pidge was male that day and Hunk was with them) sitting around his couch before sweetly telling him to come to her apartment later that night. Matt had given him pitying looks the rest of the night and he wanted to fight against them. He didn’t want or _need_ pity. He clenched his jaw as he messed around with the Wii and TV settings. There was a different air around all of them the next time they came. Matt told them the lies that he saw. Nyma loves him and he loves Nyma.

               He had hoped that Shiro’s friends would like him. He hadn’t expected to actually _meet_ Shiro’s friends, or even Shiro again, but he hoped the instant he realized the people were his friends.

               They don’t. But that’s okay.

               He doesn’t like himself either.

               Eventually though, they warm up to him.

               Matt knows Plaxum so they can talk about her. Pidge knows Hunk so they can talk about him, about how amazing he is. Keith seems threatened by Lance’s presence but Pidge, she explains that Keith thinks Lance is after Shiro romantically. Lance immediately corrects the false thoughts, tells Keith he isn’t interested in pursuing a relationship with Shiro because he has Nyma. Eventually, Keith believes in his words and they bond over their mutual over-protective feelings towards Shiro. Keith also admits that he’s terrified of ruining their hard-won balance by confessing to Shiro so Lance cheers him on to do so anyhow. Lets him know how much Shiro had spoken about Keith.

               Once Pidge finds out that Lance knows anatomy, half of what was required for his studies, she enlists his help to build Shiro a prosthetic arm. Of course, he’s excited to help. Then he finds himself bonding with Pidge over mutual nerdiness, something he hadn’t done in _so_ long. “Pidge, no, what? _Return of the King_ is definitely the best _Lord of the Rings_ movie. Are you insane?”

               He levels Lance with a flat stare. “That is beside the point, Lance. Don’t be an idiot. _Fellowship of the Ring_ was so exactly like the book, I almost cried! Besides, the origin stories are always the best.” They bicker a lot but it makes Lance feel like he was back home with Marinette.

               The look that he gave them when they gave Shiro the arm though. It made all the sweat and tears and one near death experience worth it all.

               Everything is going great. He has friends, people who accept him and don’t bug him about the details of his relationship with Nyma and Rolo. His family visits as often as is possible, Marinette sharing her comic ideas and pictures with Lance any chance she gets. Vivienne was showing promise as an author, though she wasn’t yet able to create a full world of her own so she ended up writing a lot of what she called fanfiction. The way she looked at Lance, Shiro, and Keith though as she also stated she wrote friend-fiction unnerved him. His apartment was always lively when he was there and, sometimes, even when he wasn’t.

               Everything is going _wonderfully_.

               He is actually able to believe himself when he tells himself that tomorrow will be okay as well. That tomorrow may be fun, that tomorrow is worth waking up for, that he isn’t as ugly or disgusting or broken as Nyma and Rolo seem to think he is.

               But then everything is not going okay. Everything is not good. And he can only blame himself for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday Lance!!!


End file.
